


Ready, Set, Into The Future

by auroreanrave



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Coitus Interruptus, Fluff and Smut, Honeymoon, Humor, M/M, Oral Sex, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Possessive Behavior, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1537850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroreanrave/pseuds/auroreanrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Stiles are on their honeymoon, when it's in fact the surprise 'pack bonding' vacation no one told either of them about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready, Set, Into The Future

**Author's Note:**

> Written off the idea of Derek and Stiles' honeymoon and how it could transform from boring wedding bliss into sloppy, pack feels.

The resort Stiles picks for their honeymoon is opulent, gorgeous, and expensive beyond words, so expensive in fact that Derek hadn't even bothered peeking at the price in the follow-up email after Stiles had booked it. Stiles' accompanying wince, adorable face, and consolatory blowjob had more than made up for it.

The guide escorting them through the resort - her shiny hair glints in the sunlight and her nametag reads 'Danielle' - points out the pools, the beach, the huts spread along one side of the resort full of massage therapy centres and yoga studios and stuff Derek has no intention of visiting. His plans for the honeymoon details he and Stiles spending as much time as possible in bed or on the beach inbetween breaks to the buffet. He's a glutton for more than just food; what can he say?

Stiles is a bundle of energy, chattering to Danielle about the tree pose and what kind of massage oils he hopes the masseuses will have and, while the thought of someone touching Stiles in that way makes Derek all kinds of possessive, he fights it back because Stiles is joy and light and fizzy effervescence and he's so happy here that Derek will let a dozen masseuses named Sven with blonde hair and big muscles get their hands on Stiles if it makes him happy.

He's not doing yoga, though.

The suite Danielle shows them is... gorgeous, even Derek has to admit. Three interconnecting rooms, each filled with tasteful solid furniture and big windows that overlook the rest of the resort. There's no television in place, but a large section of the living area is sunken down, comfortable padded benches surrounding a raised small bonfire, prepped and waiting to be lit, while the bedroom is all soft white Egyptian cotton sheets in a four poster bed, and the bathroom is tasteful white marble with turquoise accents.

Stiles loves it, hopping from room to room as soon as Danielle leaves, with a twenty dollar tip from Derek in her pocket, jumping onto the bed like a child and making echoing noises in the expansive bathroom. Derek pushes their bags to one corner of the bedroom, before sitting down on the edge of the bed and gazing at the suite, looking through the doorway into the lounge which is bigger than the loft.

"Fucking Christ, Derek, this place is amazing." Stiles pops his head around the doorway into the bathroom, stripped down to his boxers. Derek blinks for a second, then notices steam rising from the bathroom and realises that Stiles is running a shower.

"I didn't hear the shower."

"I know, it's the quietest thing on Earth apart from the sound of Lydia tearing apart those professors of hers with her nails." Stiles grins and moves toward Derek, pulling at Derek's jacket and the hem of his shirt, fingers warm against Derek's stomach, and Stiles' mouth against Derek's.

They end up pressed against the tiles of the shower, big enough for a bench to be placed in there, Derek's fingers pressing up against Stiles' prostate, Derek's cock firm and hard and slick from Stiles' spit and the hot water pounding down around them. Stiles is moaning, crying out, and he finally makes a beautiful, broken, gorgeous sound as Derek slides his cock into Stiles.

Derek's eyes glow red and his teeth are sharp against Stiles' neck, a pressure that turns Stiles' scent, all fresh apples and woodsmoke and bitter orange, and amplifies it, so Derek is drowning in it, lungfuls of scent, and that makes him drive his hips forward, a satisfying smack as he pistons into Stiles.

His hand goes to Stiles' cock, straining and flushed despite having come once already, and begins to jerk it off in time to the rhythm of Derek's hips, both of them racing towards a climax. It hasn't been long since they've done this, only the length of the flight really, but it feels as urgent as if they've been separated for years.

Stiles comes first with a cry, come spilling through Derek's fingers, sluiced with water and draining away; Derek comes a few seconds later, pulsing inside of Stiles, buried to the root inside of his husband.

Minutes later, when they've recovered enough, Derek scoops Stiles up into his arms and carries them out to the bed - because he didn't get a chance to carry Stiles over the threshold and see his little grumpy smile - whereupon they collapse onto the bed and fall asleep, just like an old couple.

* * *

 

They eat their body weight in food at dinner - a high-end buffet awaits their every meal, Stiles says as they walk through the polished corridors towards the luxurious hotel restaurant - and it's only when Stiles has eaten four slices of chocolate torte and ten macaroons of varying flavours (Derek can pick up raspberry, vanilla, mango, and pistachio on Stiles' breath), that he deigns to let Derek drag him from the restaurant and into one of the little lounges secreted around the resort.

The couches are firm and strong and padded so thickly that Derek and Stiles curl up on one without so much as a squeak of protest. Derek pulls out his reading glasses and one of the James Patterson books Stiles had packed in his case for him ("you need culture, Derek, and while admittedly Patterson is a little generic, you used to live in a burnt out shack in the woods; be grateful I'm not sticking Stephen King in for your 'Misery'-aping ass."), while Stiles curls up at the other end, one of the George RR Martin books flipped open, dog-eared with Stiles' progress and insistence on marking favourite passages, and his feet nudging against Derek's.

It feels like home.

It's a shame it lasts for about twenty minutes, however, when a flurry of clatter and excitement from one end of the lounge, right where the front entrance to the resort is, and Derek knows the sounds of the voices, the smells, and he looks up in shocked surprise to see -

"Dude!" Scott's voice travels over the length of the lounge, dislodging Stiles from his literary reverie to the entrance where Scott, Isaac, Allison, Kira, Lydia, Boyd and Erica are all stood, in various states of dress, bags and suitcases at the ready, all beaming brightly at Stiles and Derek.

Stiles turns back to Derek, a look of shock crowning his face. "Did you - "

"I thought you might have - "

They manage to share one bewildered, vaguely comforting hand-grasp before several werewolves and lycanthropic-friendly humans barrel towards them for group hugs.

* * *

 

"And you thought this would be a good idea, why?" Derek asks the trio in front of him, arms crossed across his chest. Isaac and Erica are on one of the benches in the sunken pit of Derek and Stiles' suite, while Boyd has taken an ottoman nearby. All three look a little tired and shame-faced, and the faint smell of sweat is itching at Derek's nose like a mosquito.

"It was Scott's idea; he just missed you guys and thought that a quick visit would be nice. Then he started checking dates and times and found that the resort had a few spare rooms and then he convinced us and..." Isaac shrugged, "...here we are."

"Besides, none of us have really had a vacation, and this place seemed amazing." Erica offered, shedding her jacket and studying her nails (scarlet, immaculately done, obviously Lydia's work, Derek noted).

"Yes, it is. That's why I picked it for my honeymoon." Derek bites out between gritted teeth. On the other side of the room, near their bedroom, Derek can see Stiles having an enthusiastically excited talk to Scott, Allison, Lydia and Kira, looking between exasperated, annoyed, and begrudgingly happy to see them. Derek doesn't even want to

"The resort's huge, there's no way we're going to be spending the entire trip together." Boyd offers, a balm.

"You're not staying for the whole trip." Derek says incredulously. A few days is enough, but for the whole two weeks? He has clearly offended some forest god or something.

"Sorry, boss, but unless you're willing to pay for all of us to get new flights out of here as well as the cancellation fees on our suites and stay..." Erica says.

"Fine." Derek pinches the bridge of his nose and mentally counts to ten, although counting to a hundred wouldn't ease the irritated ache he's developing. "You can stay. Just... give us some space, alright?"

"Absolutely, no problem." Isaac smiles, and looks around the suite. "This is nice. Are all of ours going to be nice?"

"No. It's the honeymoon suite. For people on their honeymoon." Derek growls.

* * *

 

Later that night, once everyone has found their suites and gone to bed, Derek emerges from the bathroom, in boxers for the balmy climate, to find Stiles in bed, under the rumpled white sheets, looking at Derek, his glasses on.

"What?"

"They're idiots, but they're our idiots." Stiles says, peeling back the sheets, inviting Derek to slide in alongside him. Derek knows he's right, knows that they've been through far too much as a pack not to have that tight bond, but still - Derek wanted his honeymoon, damnit.

Derek walks towards the bed. Stiles is in his thin tee shirt and boxers, in Avengers and Batman print respectively, and Derek curls up alongside Stiles. They turn the light out and Derek wraps his body around Stiles', a protective cocoon that sneaks a possessive arm over Stiles' waist and buries a nose into Stiles' hair, and has fingers that link, the platinum wedding rings on the left hands clinking softly into the soft night.

* * *

 

The next morning, Derek finds himself and Stiles a table at the restaurant for the breakfast, the same high-end buffet setting as dinner, only for Scott and Kira to drag them away towards a large communal table where Lydia and Isaac have already set up their breakfasts (Lydia has pancakes, fresh strawberries and grapefruit juice; Isaac has bacon, toast, and coffee) and Derek can see Allison and Stiles chatting at the omelette bar to the girl working there.

Boyd and Erica slouch in ten minutes after Stiles and Derek get to the table, plates full of sausage, French toast, and enough doughnuts to satisfy an entire cop squad, according to Stiles through a mouthful of sugary dough, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses and

"So what's the plan for today? I saw they've got waterboarding and surfing and mini golf here." Scott says, beaming. He and Stiles begin to make plans for several rounds of mini golf with Kira.

"I have no intention of doing anything apart from reading, tanning, and flirting with the cute guy on the reception desk." Lydia notes, cutting into her pancakes.

"You mean the guy with the great cheekbones? Yep, go for it." Stiles grins, and turns to Derek who is somewhat offended. "Come on, hamburger and steak, babe." Derek is mollified and absurdly pleased, wrapping a proprietary arm across the back of Stiles' chair and shoulders as he munches through his eggs and toast.

"I think there's a great market nearby; we could always try that." Kira offers brightly, and Allison and Boyd soon concur; Allison has a penchant for ethically-sourced accessories, and Boyd apparently found enough time before the trip to research the fact that the market is abundant with cheap spices (Boyd is a great cook, but bemoans the lack of price-available spices in Beacon Hills).

"What about you, Derek?"

Derek glowers, half-heartedly it has to be said, over the forkful of sausage he has raised in a mid-air bite. "I'll find something to do."

* * *

 

He ends up by the pool with Lydia and Isaac. He wears the baggy black pool shorts Stiles had picked out for him and takes the James Patterson he started the day before. The water looks cool and inviting, but he's in no rush and the sun feels nice.

Kira joins them an hour later, right about when Isaac has finally plucked the courage to talk to Danielle who appears to be on pool duty, her copy of 'The Winds of Winter' under her arm and a story about how she left following her crushing defeat of Scott and Stiles and their subsequent sulking. Derek smirks, hands her a glass of lemonade, and gets back to his book.

He's disturbed an hour and a half later, when his book is removed from his hands, long fingers folding over the corner of the page, and Stiles slinks into his lap, sweaty and warm and sweet.

"Hey there, bookworm. Wanna take a swim?" Stiles is pulling off his tee shirt, pale skin exposed to the sun, Derek's hands low on his hips.

"Sure. I could be persuaded." Derek leans forward, sliding his tongue into Stiles' mouth as Stiles curls his hands into Derek's hair, legs astride Derek's hips. All thoughts of cooling off, a turquoise shimmery haze in Derek's mind, evaporate instantly like an oasis in a desert, in favour of Stiles and his heat, the slow pressure of tongues and breath intermingling.

That is, right until a wave of water splashes them, big enough that it completely drenches both of them. Stiles splutters, spinning around from his position to see Scott and Erica in the water, grinning and looking completely without genuine remorse. "Come on, get in the pool, or get a room."

Derek almost bites back that they have a room - fuck, they were supposed to have an entire resort - but Stiles slinks from Derek's grasp, tucking his knees into his jump and cannonballing right onto Scott and Erica's smug faces. That makes Derek smile like the goddamn Sun.

* * *

 

Derek begins plotting ways to carve out some Derek-and-Stiles-only time, because he can only stand so many mid-afternoon drinks when Stiles fondles Derek under the table whilst announcing his plans to go check out the local market with Kira, Boyd, and Allison, all with that innocent smile on his face that Derek wants to fuck clean off. With his tongue. Or his dick. Or whatever.

Those plans, unfortunately... appear to keep going awry.

The third afternoon they're there, Derek has designs of sneaking Stiles down to this little cove he found on a dawn jog. The cove is quiet, smooth and pleasant, small waves lapping against the sand. Perfect for a little sojourn for a married couple.

After lunch, Derek makes an excuse - he asks Stiles to help him track down this book he's lost, one of Stiles' he knows that Stiles is particularly fond of - and when he gets him alone, Derek shushes Stiles, unveils the 'lost' book, and drags an all-too-willing Stiles down to the cove.

They're three-quarters naked, both down to their shorts which hang low on their hips, both aching and hard, when they hear the whispers and giggles. Stiles stops his way down Derek's chest to look up from his position on his knees. "The hell is that?"

"I don't know." Derek's eyes shade a little crimson, because they're both in a vulnerable, half-naked state and he's... protective. Of his mate.

The sounds turn out to be Boyd and Erica. Having sex. Right where Derek can see it.

He's not sure he'll ever get that image out of his head, and he's never lost arousal so quickly.

"Never mind, babe," Stiles offers as they walk back to the resort, the sound of Boyd and Erica fading gratefully with every step they take. Derek is angry and tired and he just wants some alone time with his husband and it's infuriating, "you can always try again, later."

(They do try again later that evening, but find Scott and Isaac drunk on wolfsbane-infused beer and singing in their spot, Isaac singing an ode to Danielle's boobs and Scott planning he and Kira's Spongebob-themed wedding. Derek nearly tears a hole in the cove.)

* * *

 

In revenge, Derek fucks Stiles that night so loud that any wolf in a three mile radius can hear them in ear-splitting, agonising detail, and at least everyone on their floor can tell exactly what Derek's been doing with his tongue and where he's been putting it.

Afterwards, sprawled on the expensive sheets and Derek's mouth in the hollow of Stiles' neck, Stiles swats at Derek's hip lazily.

"I know what that was for, you know." Derek tries raising an eyebrow and an expression of wounded innocence but that dies on arrival as soon as Stiles looks back at him.

"You're lucky I like that you can be a devious little shit on the side." Stiles leans up to kiss Derek on the cheek, and Derek mentally begins thinking of ways he can make this up to Stiles, not involving flowers, cheesy music, or anything that would end up in a trip to the hospital. Maybe a tattoo, or something equally permanent. He doesn't deserve Stiles.

In the morning, over breakfast, Scott doesn't even look up from his pile of turkey bacon and scrambled eggs while Isaac keeps his attention of making moon eyes at Danielle, Boyd pointedly ignores them all in favour of his paperback book and his French toast, Erica moans pitifully into her orange juice, and Derek smirks into his coffee.

* * *

 

"I don't see what the big deal is!" Stiles is saying in their hotel suite, voice raised. Derek is just tired and wants to sleep and forget he ever raised the issue, but now it's out and -

"It is a big deal - it's bad enough they hijacked our honeymoon, but the others keep... I want to spend some time with my husband. _Alone_." Derek is sat on the bed, exasperated. Stiles has spent the day with Scott and Allison learning surfing, coming back at four in the afternoon with scratches, seaweed in awkward places, and stories about his honeymoon that didn't involve Derek.

"They're your pack. My pack. _Ours_. You shouldn't be that stressed that they're here; you're spending literally nearly every moment with them back home."

"Exactly. Back home. I wanted two weeks of just you. My mate. And they are my pack, but... everyone needs boundaries." Derek doesn't think that's unreasonable. At all.

Stiles' face is settling into that little expression Derek knows so well; the one that is still annoyed, but more annoyed that he's in the wrong. Derek loves his pack, he does, but a honeymoon isn't meant to be pack bonding where Derek can't sneak away or plan a romantic excursion without other people sneaking aboard, however innocently.

"I'm gonna go downstairs. Get some reading done." Derek stands, scoops up his book - nearly done - and exits the bedroom, resolutely not sulking.

* * *

 

They have only a few days left on their honeymoon and Derek's mood has settled into begrudging grumpiness. He and Stiles are still fine, but he's largely left to his own devices, while the others go exploring. Alpha left behind to guard the base. As a result, Derek drinks too many virgin margaritas and terrifies at least fifty-six percent of the staff (according to Lydia at least).

"Mr Hale." Derek looks up from his book, hand shading his eyes from the sunshine. He's finished the Patterson and is now on the first of the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' books. He likes the show after all and Stiles and Kira have promised to avoid spoiling anything for him.

Danielle is in front of him, her work uniform shirt neatly pressed and ironed. She even has a flower in her hair, tucked over her ear. She looks nice.

"I have orders to bring you down to the beach."

Derek blinks, mouth folding into a frown. The others have been gone all day, on an excursion to local markets and spots, and Stiles hadn't bothered asking Derek if he'd want to come, given his propensity for a bad mood in the past few hours.

"And if I refuse?"

"I have the authority to call you a 'pathetic snivelling baby' and to tell you to 'get the fuck down here'." Danielle has the world-worn expression of a generation working well beneath their pay grade and college tuition level, and the smirk of someone who can make someone do something if she puts her back into it, and it's enough to get Derek off his sun lounger and pulling his shirt on.

They make their way down to the beach, making small talk, mainly about Isaac and his dogged attempts at flirting with Danielle who is receptive but wants a decent guy rather than the last cute resort who walked in and broke her heart after sex. Derek assures her about Isaac's intentions, his previous track record, and insinuates he may have rescued a group of puppies from a house fire.

"Where the hell are we going?" Derek asks

Danielle grins, patting him on the shoulder. She heads down the beach, towards the cove, Derek following her, and it's then that he spots Stiles and Scott and Isaac and Allison and Lydia and everyone else assembled on the sand, a man in the garb of a priest standing a little to one side, looking at Derek expectantly.

Everyone is assembled on the sand a little way away from the resort. Stiles is in his shorts and his nicest shirt and even has a couple of flowers jammed into his hair (courtesy of Lydia telling him about medieval wedding customs). He looks just as handsome as he did on their actual wedding day, but more relaxed, more at ease.

Stiles steps towards him, hands outstretched and beckoning and Derek steps forward into them. "Surprise?"

* * *

 

The ceremony is short and blessedly uneventful - Scott gets a big tear in his eye when Stiles pledges his vows to Derek, dropping in an apology or two, and the minister looks surprised if somewhat pleased at the reaction when he announces Derek and Stiles united. There are mass hugs, more tears unshed than shed, and soon enough the group journeys along the beach to find somewhere for dinner, apologies for interrupting their honeymoon scattered along the way like confetti.

Derek doesn't mind, really, he discovers. Now he's been clued in and brought into the loop, just like with the blessing ceremony Stiles and the others have been planning for days.

They eat out under the stars, taking tables out in the open and watching the sun set as the restaurant turns into a club, and soon they have music to dance to, and they're neon-streaked from the paint that the partygoers bring, sigils smeared into their skin, ones that say family and home and love and hope and us, us, us.

Derek watches as they move together - Scott and Kira, Isaac and Danielle, Boyd and Erica - and feels a sense of something in his chest, warm and bright and as tight as a second skin, like that feeling belongs there. Has always belonged there. Pack. Family. Together.

Stiles wraps his hands around Derek's waist and bounces on the balls of his feet. "Hello, husband."

"Hello." Derek's smile is wolfish and bliss itself, and he kisses Stiles until the stars burn out.

* * *

 

The flight back is uneventful; Isaac keeps pouting and checking his phone every two minutes until Danielle replies his texts with her Twitter handle and email and Facebook, and a promise that next time she flies home to visit her family in California, she'll stop by Beacon Hills to see Isaac.

Allison and Lydia spend too much money on snacks and souvenirs, planning gaudy gifts to the Sheriff and Melissa; Scott and Kira obsess over the film and the SkyMall purchases for their dogs; and Boyd and Erica just snuggle into each other, sunglasses on and bright Hawaiian shirts on unapologetically.

Derek just rests his forearm against Stiles', and leans back in his seat. Stiles is asleep, mouth open, liable to drooling and snoring, and Derek loves him so much it cracks his heart at the seams.

He's with his pack, his mate, his husband, and they're going home, after a honeymoon Derek will never forget. He's got it pretty good.

Derek leans his head back so he can press his lips against Stiles' temple, and falls into a pleasant, blessed doze against his husband.


End file.
